


to navigate through stranger tides

by ThomasTheMemeEngine



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Light-Hearted, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pirates, Siren Jaskier | Dandelion, enemies to enemies with benefits :3, geralt tried to kill the wrong flamboyant pirate captain, if you roast me for historical inaccuracy i will spray windex into your eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomasTheMemeEngine/pseuds/ThomasTheMemeEngine
Summary: Jaskier was of noble descent. The way he spoke drove Geralt up the wall. But, luckily, he wouldn't have to deal with that for much longer. He spun around to face the source of all that irritating noise. It was hardly worth it, because he almost fell off by simply doing so. The piece of wood under his legs began to wobble. He was just evading the inevitable, though."With all due respect, Cap'n, it was your idea to have me walk the plank.", he remarked, level-headed. Not that it mattered, but still.______Jaskier, an eccentric pirate Captain with a flair for the dramatic, is brave enough to kiss the bounty hunter who's after his head. Geralt, however, just *really* needs some coin and wishes he had chosen a simpler target. A little Tom and Jerry-esque, if you will.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 143





	1. merely cargo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arrr

God.

_That fucking heat._

Geralt was absolutely drenched in sweat. His shirt clung to his body in the most abominable way possible, his pants were starting to merge with his legs, and _his boots,_ for pete's sake, his boots... They were basically _glued_ to his feet. Ironically enough, he was currently located on the windiest spot of the ship (save the the crow's nest), but the harsh oceanic breeze was barely any help against the raging, evil sun. It only cooled off his body for a couple of minutes. Naught but temporary relief. He wrung his hands uncomfortably behind his back, acutely aware of how stiffly they were tied together.

_At this point he was more than willing to walk the plank._

Ready to jump into cold water, get swallowed by the sea and sink to the bottom like a forgotten chest.

"Oh, my dear Geralt. I can barely stand this cruelty. How I will _weep_ for you! How I will mourn you... I yearn for that very day when we first locked eyes... Your sharp, attentive gaze undressed me in that very tavern. We made love, _beautifully_. I will remember you as a most gentle lover. The memory of how you shivered pleasantly under my touch I hold very dear. Oh, how gorgeously your white locks framed your chiseled face. May Davy Jones' Locker keep you safe till I can join you in your watery grave."

Geralt rolled his eyes with gusto at the quote unquote _tear-jerking speech_.

Jaskier was of noble descent. The way he spoke drove Geralt up the wall. But, luckily, he wouldn't have to deal with that for much longer. He spun around to face the source of all that irritating noise. It was hardly worth it, because he almost fell off by simply doing so. The piece of wood under his legs began to wobble. He was just evading the inevitable, though.

"With all due respect, _Cap'n_ , it was your idea to have me walk the plank.", he remarked, level-headed. Not that it mattered, _but still_.

Jaskier, that bastard, had the nerve to pout. Everything about that man was so endlessly infuriating.

He was at the base of the plank amongst his fellow crewmen who scrambled like insects to catch a brief glimpse of the commotion. He stood out like a sore thumb with his shrill, blue coat and the richly ornamented tricorne that sat atop his head like a nautical crown. His brown hair stuck out messily from underneath. Quite unkempt, somewhat boyish. The woman by his side, however, was refined in ways that he wasn't. Her black gown was torn here and there but pearls and chains hung from her neck like a stern reminder. A sign of her authority. She stood firmly as a cannon with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown etched deeply into delicate facial features. Jetblack hair, purple eyes.

Sea Witch Yennefer and Serenading Jaskier made quite the pair.

The Captain briefly wiped at his eyes with a hankerchief he had retrieved from his left pocket, feigning _unspeakable_ grief. It didn't take long before he regained his devil-may-care attitude. His lips were curled into an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid so, my dear, I'm afraid so. As much as I became infatuated with your devilishly handsome demeanor... I have no use for filthy bounty hunters such as yourself on my noble ship. In another life we could have sailed the seven seas together as pirates. But today, my love, _you are merely cargo_.", he chirped with a wave of his hand. "Now, chop chop. Go forth. I have business to attend to. You may consider yourself lucky to die on such a beautiful ship. Take it as a sign of mercy. Adieu."

 _The Countess_ was, indeed, quite beautiful. That wooden calamity rode the waves with undeniable grace and never failed to draw in stares at whichever harbor it docked.

Geralt sighed and turned around to face the sea. He'd die with plenty of regrets but, nowadays, most men did... A few more steps and it would all be over. Blessed peace.

Geralt quietly spoke his very last prayer and lifted his foot as an assertive shout rippled through the air. It came from Yennefer.

"Hold on! I'll buy him _._ "

Everyone's eyes were now trained on the Sea Witch, who, truth be told, seemed more exasperated than anything. Geralt looked over his shoulder with utter confusion. _She'll buy me? Was I for sale?_ The crew began to chatter excitedly which inspired Jaskier to draw his bedazzled pistol and fire off a warning shot in the air. This demonstration of power effectively rendered everyone silent.

"Everyone, _shut the fuck up._ ", the Captain sneered. "I draw no pleasure out of raising my voice. I need it for singing. Let us negotiate this _quietly_. Thank you.", he added sweetly and returned the gun to its respective holster. "Now, enlighten me, my precious Yennefer. What is it that you wish to do with this ordinary bandit?"

The woman rubbed her temples, clearly regretting her decision to get involved. "Jaskier, you _must_ know why. He is no ordinary bandit."

The brunette stuck out his lower lip naively. "You are correct. Above all, he is an extraordinary lover. Your point?"

"Not _that_ , you love-stricken fool. Geralt's swordsmanship is unparalleled. Before his identity was revealed to us, we considered him a valued crew member. Frankly, I couldn't give two shits about the fact that he tried to kill you, Siren. Most of us have wanted to kill you at some point in our lives.", Yennefer argued.

A few pirates murmured in agreement to which Jaskier smiled – knowingly. "Fair point, fair point. Go on."

"We desperately need manpower aboard _Aretuza_. Some of my best men succumbed to their illnesses and you _fucking_ know this. Think of our alliance. We sail under the same flag, _we_ _aid each other_. In no more than five days we will arrive in Havanna. I will go back to my ship and take Geralt with me. You said he was cargo? If so, I'll buy him."

Geralt considered jumping to his death regardless because he grew tired of their stale back and forth.

Meanwhile, Jaskier earnestly contemplated Yennefer's words. It all made perfect sense. They were partners and he needed her to be content. If she turned on him, he would have to sleep with his eyes open for the rest of his sorry, miserable life. Furthermore, they had their eyes on a certain Spanish merchant vessel that would – if their informant was to be believed – eventually pass Havanna which provided them with a narrow time window in which they could strike. Aretuza and The Countess were two powerhouses that easily plundered entire fleets, but only if they could rely on their men to fight back if things went south. Sometimes, combat could not be evaded. Yennefer hasn't been the same ever since her right-hand woman Triss was fatally wounded in a battle against the British navy that claimed the lives of dozens of men.

But Geralt was _dangerous_ and posed a threat to his authority. He was no pirate – he killed them for a living. Could he be won over? Scared into submission? Bribed? Something told him that the white-haired vigilante had a firm moral compass that could not be tampered with but, dammit, _Jaskier had always loved a good challenge_ and felt reasonably safe under Yennefer's supervision.

To hell with it! Why not?

The Captain clasped his hands together merrily. "I've given it some thought!", he announced. "Geralt lives to see another day. However! At night, the lad shall be in chains to ensure my safety. Believe it or not, I prefer to remain unstabbed. Also: I want your precious pearl necklace, Yen. You know, the one you seized from your trade with the Chinese empress."

Yennefer audibly whinced at the thought of surrendering her jewelry but agreed, nonetheless. She could always steal it back if she felt inclined to do so.

The two pirate Captains shook hands and Geralt observed the transaction with a look of pure anger on his face. _Being sold off like life stock..._ It didn't sit right with him, made his blood boil. Geralt would _never_ obey a pirate if it could be helped. He just needed to find a way to come out on top, he told himself. Patience, patience, patience. This was all part of the hunt.

What irked him the most was that Jaskier was beaming. "You're safe!", he cooed and stretched out his arms for Geralt to run into but – why the hell would he?

Geralt damn near fletched his teeth. "Oh, go to hell, you insufferable..."

Unfortunately, his tongue-lashing was rudely interrupted by a wave that slammed into the ship and caused it to shudder under the brutal force. The movement threw a few pirates off their feet and, regrettably, shook the plank with such intensity that it sent Geralt _flying_. Jaskier let out a string of curses and Yennefer stared in disbelief as her newly bought item plummeted into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geralt did jaskier so dirty in that mountain scene i briefly contemplated killing him off but then i remembered that i have the hots for him :/


	2. a mermaid's touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i looked up pirate lingo for this one
> 
> (tw: drowning/asphyxiation but it only lasts for a very brief moment)

Geralt was retrieved, of course, by none other than Jaskier himself.

The brunette was not one to dishonor a bargain. He had a reputation to uphold. Besides... He really, really _wanted_ that necklace. He had jumped into creature-infested waters for lesser things, such as an expensive earring for example.

Jaskier shrugged off his coat and handed Yennefer his hat and the firearm. Then, he swung himself over the rail. _This would be easy_. He dove into water with a deafening splash.

* * *

The white-haired man has sunken _quite a bit_ but whether it was the impending doom or the extreme change in temperature – it kickstarted his survival instinct. He struggled against his restraints but the rope just dug itself deeper into his flesh. As if that wasn't bad enough, he also noticed a few malicious shadows pool beneath him, excitedly. _Fuck._ Time was running out. He needed to come up for air but instead, he was being claimed, or rather eaten, by the dark blue depths. One last, painful breath escaped him. With emptied lungs, everything he saw began to blur. _He was going to drown. Or get swallowed by a creature. His life was gonna end. Rock bottom._ It hit him like a ton of bricks.

He faintly acknowledged a body appearing in his field of vision. It was shimmering around the edges, illuminated by the sun. Geralt couldn't make out who – or rather _what_ was drawing near, couldn't bring himself to even care in his dazed state of mind. It was hard to channel a coherent though with a lungful of saltwater in his system. It tugged at his sanity. Before he knew it, a scaly arm was securely wrapped around his waist and, to his surprise, the touch felt strangely familiar. Geralt was quickly being pulled back to the surface by a thing, stronger than any ordinary man. Geralt coughed, once, spat out some water. He whipped his head around to see what had held him, and, for crying out loud – _Jaskier._

_It was Jaskier._

Geralt's heard of Sirens, of course. Seen them from afar. They were these ghastly, winged things of nefarious beauty who lured in sailors and ripped them to shreds once they stood within reach. And, dammit, he was aware of the rumors, the hushed whispers behind closed doors that were promptly silenced when the Captain walked by. People frequently spoke of Serenading Jaskier's supposed freak nature but Geralt has never quite seen it with his own two eyes and dismissed it for an old wives' tale. He has bedded the man, after all. Seen every inch of his body.

_He looked so human... But clearly, he wasn't._

Was Geralt just seeing things? He has taken the fall quite well (given the fact that he'd miracously avoided landing on his head) but his vision was impaired, blurry and unclear.

The hand which wasn't holding Geralt was preoccupied with clawing at the underside of the ship. It quickly found a spot that surrendered under his powerful grasp. He let his nails – _they'd grown impossibly sharp_ – sink into the wooden panels so the two of them wouldn't drift away.

The crew, of course, was screaming for bloody murder. That much Geralt understood.

Suddenly, Jaskier's silky voice spoke to him with eerie calmness. "My, you're heavy. 'Twas to be expected, though." There was a pause. The next few words were not meant for Geralt. "Toss me a rope, my loves. Or lower a raft. _Regardless_ , do it quick."

Geralt could hardly grasp the following chain of events; the stinging sensation in his chest preoccupied his every thought. Eventually, he realized that he was being heaved back on board, zealous at the feeling of his body hitting dry wooden flooring. Geralt's eyes were glued shut as he tried to to come to his senses. At least he could still feel the sun licking at his face, relentless as ever. Then, everything darkened. A human-shaped shadow hung above his face, kneeling at his side. A clawed arm adorned with harsh, pale blue scales touched at Geralt's face, careful not to scratch him. It displayed a rare tenderness that no one dared to address.

Someone chimed in. "Think he's dead, Cap'n. May I have his belt?"

Jaskier chuckled. His voice bore itself gently into Geralt's head like a spear, triggered a bodily response he had no control over. "No, you may not, Caleb. The lad merely swallowed a whole lot of saltwater. Must feel quite discombobulated. Yennefer, I hope you're still delighted with your purchase. He's taken quite a bit of damage, after all. I can toss him right back into the water if he's no good."

If Geralt had the strength, he would have kicked his rescuer in the face.

"Nay, he'll do. You have my thanks, Siren.", Yennefer confirmed.

"Jaskier, you...", Geralt groaned and managed to crack open his eyes. The view, however, was _startling_.

Jaskier was beautiful. Had always been, to be frank, _but now?_ Its intensity has increased by tenfold.

Geralt couldn't take his eyes off of him. He gaped at how delicately the man's shiny, wet hair clung to his forehead, how the droplets ran over his sun-kissed skin. And Jaskier's eyes, god, they were shockingly blue. More so than usual, and, _oh_ , his pupils were slits. What? No matter. Jaskier smiled at him with a fang-filled mouth. Lips red, pretty, _kissable_. Marvelous. Frightening. Geralt's mind and body were going seperate places, splitting him in half. He pushed himself up and placed a hand on the back of Jaskier's head, which the other man allowed, welcomingly. "You're back in the land of the living.", the pirate noted softly, but Geralt couldn't help himself, couldn't unfeel that all-consuming desire. He ended up pulling Jaskier closer to himself. So close, their foreheads touched. Did he always smell this good? Like fresh sea water, honey and gun powder.

Geralt connected their lips without a second thought in a bruising, urgent kiss. The suddenness of it made Jaskier gasp with earnest surprise, and, _more importantly_ , wiped all the self-importance off of his perfectly smug face... which Geralt couldn't quite appreciate in his delirious state.

A few individuals groaned annoyedly. Their airheaded Captain was prone to bewitching people by accident. Luckily, one brave soul stepped in.

"Dammit, Jaskier, you stupid fish. Leave the man _alone_.", Yennefer hissed. She was now sporting the Siren's tricorne which strengthened her command. She pulled Jaskier away by grabbing a fistful of his brown locks. The man let out a whiny _"Ow!"_ and the crew snickered at his misery.

But Geralt was by no means amused. He felt the urge to _crawl_ after Jaskier. It frightened him to no end. "What's...? I don't...?", he stammered.

Yennefer peered at him with the usual disdain she expressed towards everyone alike. "You're under his influence now, whether you want it or not. Ever heard of _a mermaid's touch?_ Sirens use it to lull people into a false sense of security. Sends you straight into heaven. It's the scales, persumably. They're coated in a substance. _Serves as an aphrodisiac_. It will wear off soon enough, though."

Her words hit Geralt like a sledgehammer. Once he was aware of the magic spell, it weakened – almost, as if a veil was being gently lifted. His view sharpened, the drunkenness faded.

Geralt was beside himself with anger.

The Royal Govenor of the Bahamas had sent him after a literal _sea creature_ for a single, meager sack of gold.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Jaskier, who was returning to his human form. The scales retreated into his skin, the claws shrank. A few more moments passed before he was back to being an average young man again with no trace left of his eldritch disposition except for the vehement _pull_ Geralt sensed somewhere deep in his gut.

Jaskier pushed himself up to his feet and reacquired the headgear from Yennefer with a conceited smirk. The two eyed him in a predatory manner.

"Rejoice, shark bait!", Jaskier exclaimed in his sing-songy voice. "You've been handed over to the most fearsome woman to ever live. Be her good humble servant, aye?"

Geralt clenched his teeth. He wanted the entitled man's head on a stick and, without a shadow of a doubt, he'd see to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geralt: fuck you and die. i hate everything you stand for.  
> jaskier: (winks at him as say so by doja cat starts playing)


	3. defiant nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter is super short im sowwy but i like it that way 3: ty for coping with my bs... (mwah)

The dining room was bursting with laughter, slurred sea shanties and everything good their lives had to offer – all cramped into one single room. The many candles threw shadows on the wall of chuckling figures, stuffing their mouths with subpar meals and washing it down with copious amounts of rum. They all sat together at an elongated, worn-out table which claimed the majority of the room. Here, plans were being made and tales were being spun.

Jaskier, who usually found his seat at the head of the table, occasionally switched places with people to chatter with his men. The firm hiarchy on this ship was dismantled in fleeting moments such as these, companionship being the highest priority. Truthfully, he had no obligation to engage with his crew beyond the mandatory barking of orders but still _chose_ not to segregate himself and eat with the sailors. Yennefer, however, always had to be persuaded first before joining them for dinner but even _she_ could tell how important this was to Jaskier. Whether this was purely manipulative or a genuine display of deep-seated appreciation remained, of course, unclear. Nevertheless: _We sail together, strike together, die together_. That's what it meant to sail under the Siren's flag. Becoming mutinous, though, was still not unheard of but Jaskier's undefeated likability has kept many from turning their arms against him. He occasionally even delighted them by playing the lute (which he did expertly and with devotion) or recited exaggerated stories of his heroic acts against the red coats (which exclusively ended with him stabbing a man through his heart).

Yet on this particular evening, Jaskier was entirely focused on his former assassin turned associate who seemed somewhat immune to his charms.

_Bummer._

Jaskier previously thought that he had the man wrapped around his finger (given the fact that he has fished Geralt out of deadly waters the other day), but after the magic wore off, he was feeling more resentful than ever. Also, to Jaskier's dismay, Geralt was starting to get along with Yennefer quite well because she was supposedly "the single organism on this ship who didn't think with their groin". Jaskier was endlessly wounded over this particular part. His best ideas came out of his _gut_ , after all, therefore everything above and below this sensitive spot was sacred and could be trusted.

Jaskier was not overly worried, though. Geralt would eventually come around. Most people did!

Jaskier scooped up a good bit of the stale mush they falsely mislabled as _food_ on his fork and pushed it towards Geralt's mouth. He evaded the gesture with great animosity.

This could have been romance. _No_ , love, even. His darling just seemed... _hesistant_... to indulge in his frequent attempts at domesticity and presented himself as most uncooperative.

"Hey, shark bait, I would prefer you to eat."

" _Unchain me, then._ ", Geralt snarled in his wonderful, gravelly voice that sparked his frequent gaiety.

Jaskier smirked. "No can do! You've been very naughty."

The pirate was referring to a brief incident which occured earlier that day. Geralt was left unsupervised for a couple of minutes while scrubbing the deck and seized the opportunity by sneaking into the Captain's cabin. There, he was met with a _beautifully_ large array of weapons in various sizes and shapes, as well as a multitude of flasks with creepy-looking labels. Skulls and whatnot. Poison. _Excellent._ Geralt chose to stealthily dispose of the irritating eyesore by spiking an opened bottle of wine, which has been abanonded on the nightstand. He began to generously pour in what he assumed to be Cyanide. Jaskier, however, swung the door open and caught his assassin red-handed. Promptly, the brunette decided to return the favor. Geralt was not yet aware of how creatures were immune to poison, so he dumbfoundedly watched Jaskier _kick back the whole bottle without so much as batting an eye_. Afterwards, he grabbed Geralt by the face and went for a passionate, poison-laced kiss that narrowly avoided sending him into the afterlife but instead resulted in the worst nausea he has ever experienced in his entire life.

Jaskier joyfully took a bite of his food and watched as Geralt threw back his head and groaned.

Obviously, no progress has been made that day.

* * *

Everything Yennefer wore was either velvety or dark, oftentimes ripped at the hem or visibly damaged by water and the harsh conditions at sea. Even her most favorite blouse eventually got swiss-cheesed in a sudden assault but, oh well, she found bullet holes to be charming. They were storytellers. Unlike Jaskier, she's already made peace with the short lifespan of her property. A good chunk of her lavish wardrobe and other valuables were mostly stored in a smaller room across from Jaskier's cabin which _easily_ matched his in luxuriousness. The fact that the Captain has taken the time to built Yennefer her very own, personal retreat on The Countess made her feel something akin to fondness. Truthfully, she loved her room. It was also where her and Geralt were currently negotiating.

The man sunk deeper into the leather armchair and rubbed at his stubbled chin with a contemplative look on his face. His other hand was mindlessly poking at a celestial globe with a dagger, shaving little scraps off the wooden surface. Yennefer circled him sternly.

"You reckon my terms are favorable, shark bait?", she asked.

Geralt's frown deepened. He hated how this new nickname of his has caught on. "Aye, certainly. I'm breaking ties with the Brits, the governor I worked with... He sent me on a _suicide mission_. Can't possibly go back. I'll have your back, Cap'n, rest assured. But I shan't kill for you. I find that distasteful. I live by my own rules."

He looked up to meet her gaze. Not submissively like a servant, but as an _equal_.

The woman hummed in agreement. "Your defiant nature speaks of bravery. I find that honorable in a man. Luckily, our interests allign. I do not need an executioner, I need a new safeguard. My former one... _She_..." Yennefer's face hardened. "No matter. You must take her place. I'll pay you handsomely."

Geralt perked up at that prospect. He _did_ value his coin. Yennefer could be reasoned with, it seemed. She was analytical and adept, not like her... esteemed colleague. He could live with her profiting off manipulated trades but, _bloody hell_ , Jaskier – that guy has gone absolutely mad. He served as a fine example of a crazed pirate, drunk with power and rhapsodizing over bloodshed. Geralt sighed.

"Four more day till we're in Cuba, yes?", Geralt inquired. He couldn't wait to get off this ship in a timely manner.

Yennefer picked up on his scorn and chuckled darkly. "Your aversion towards the Siren is blatant. He is my associate, though, so I must insist that you behave."

The taste of Cyanide resurfaced on Geralt's tongue and it soured his mood. He let out a displeased grunt.

"I will not bother changing your mind. It is none of my concern.", she continued. "Jaskier's whimsical, bizarre and possibly infatuated with himself – but I assure you, he is worth his weight in gold."

Geralt didn't expect Yennefer to vouch for Jaskier. It caught him a little off guard.

Her words still echoed inside his head much, much later when began to drift off into unrestful sleep on his ill-fitting hammock.

Geralt did not have the strength to shield himself from every single Jaskier-related thought that crept into mind. They came in waves, flooded his brain.

Some were pleasant, some were not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just geralt wearing an oversized t-shirt with "everyone sux except for yennefer" on it


	4. no sympathy for monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I'M BACK

A good night's sleep never quite lasted for as long as Geralt hoped it would.

His body was a cruel traitor, exhausted by the hunt and lifelong danger that accompanied his profession. It always roused him even at the slightest hint of a noise. His annoyance grew and the entire soundscape became maddening. Shifting, creaks, sighs, _someone obviously stroking his arousal with comical urgency_. Geralt slid (almost stumbled) out of his makeshift bed, careful not to step on any unexpecting pirates who were partially scattered across the floor – the hammocks were a first come first serve sort of situation. The heavy rattling of his iron handcuffs disturbed not even a single soul, it was drowned out by many heartfelt snores and various... other sounds. The man pleasuring himself must have heard him but was not kind enough to stop. Geralt began to scan the pitch black room for that asshole who was tasked with guarding his key. Of couse, Lady Luck decided to spit in his face. The man was nowhere to be seen and venturing further into the nothingness was a risk he was not willing to take. Geralt couldn't possibily distinguish the unkempt bodies from each other in the dark. He mumbled curses to no one in particular and abandoned the idea of going back to bed. Instead, he attempted to locate the door that would lead him upstairs. It took a little bit of probing, but eventually his heavy hands found the blessed door handle. _Hallelujah_. Luck was useless; persistance did the trick.

During his ascend, though, Geralt almost tripped and fell because a filthy, little rat decided to slither by and throw him off balance. He inevitably wondered if it was too late to join the royal navy.

* * *

Somewhere on deck, a hatch was slowly being lifted. The white-haired man gracelessly crawled out while struggling against his tedious restraints. He shut the thing with a well-aimed kick of his foot.

The salty wind greeted him like an old foe.

Before he was declared a threat, Geralt would use the sunless, early mornings to practice gunnery and tend to his weapons. His cherished routine came to a halt when he failed to seperate Jaskier's head from his body. Now, all of it was seized by the wary brunette. An image reappeared before Geralt's inner eye. Jaskier parrying his strike. Steel kissing steel. Widening eyes followed by a cocky grin. A quiet ferocity.

Geralt's thoughts suddenly quietened when music found its way into his ears, faint and familiar. It emitted from the ship's prow. His feet, traiterous like the rest of his damned body, swiftly carried him to the source.

He was not surprised to find Jaskier sitting by the very edge of the rail. It almost seemed like he was keeping the figurehead company. Geralt observed him from afar. Jaskier allowed himself to be so vulnerable in solitude without his pompous robe or the jewerely. Nothing to mask supposed ordinariness. Just a ruffled, loose-fitting shirt and simple black trousers hugging a tall, lean body. Jaskier was strumming the strings of his lute ever so gently like picking cherries from a tree. The gentle sway of his body spoke of promises he couldn't keep, a yearning which exceeded love.

It felt as if Jaskier was struggling to regain what piracy had taken from him – _his youthfulness_. A soft, child-like infatuation with the world and its beauty without gore nor sorrow.

Geralt wondered when his own face had stopped looking juvenile, tried to pinpoint the exact time when his features sharped and he acquired that grim weariness in his watchful, cat-like eyes but he realized _he couldn't_. Maybe Geralt was born with an inherent hostility towards this world but, dammit, _Jaskier wasn't_. He could see him as a travelling musician, planting smiles on people's faces with joyful limericks. But instead, he was forced to watch the life drain out of people who opposed his reign. He became despicable out of necessity.

And _well_ , Geralt, he... felt this profound hatred towards injustice. It was specifically why he went after pirates. Monsters were meant to be slain. Geralt simply refused to sympathize with them. After all... _What would happen if he did?_

The uncertainty was deeply unsettling, yet he couldn't tear his eyes off Jaskier playing his silly, little song because a part of him believed that if he were to reach out for him his fingers would slip right through. That it would turn out to be a mirage – something he could allow himself to show compassion for.

An imagerinary vision that wouldn't hurt his world view.

No sympathy for monsters, right?

* * *

Noon eventually came and brought devastating news.

"Well, blow me down! If that isn't the _Djinn's Revenge_. I would recognize that tragically deformed ship anywhere. What even is that unsightly figurehead? It strikes me as a, dare I say _,_ perversion of the feminine form? Aye, sickening. Truly. This sorry, little _wanker_ believes he is so high and mighty with his letter of marque... Privateers are a rotten crowd. A bunch of bootlicking sons of whores. It is simply unjust to –"

"Siren, focus."

"Ah! My sincerest apologies. Valdo Marx just really... ruffles my feathers."

The little ship-shaped spot on the horizon was undeniably headed for The Countess. Jaskier's grip around the spyglass tightened and Yennefer glanced disapprovingly at his stark white knuckles. Then, he pulled the instrument away from his face in a vigorous motion and folded it much too aggressively. His lips were pulled into a smile, or something that resembled a smile, at least. It was far too venomous to be mistaken as genuine but the Captain always wished to maintain a sunny demeanor... even if it was tinged with bloodlust.

"Yen, my dear.", his saccharine voice dripped with malintent. "I assume you are familiar with my First Mate? Be a doll and send him to the crow's nest, please? I need the lad to keep a sharp eye on that hideous vessel. We ought to hoist the sails and approach it head-on."

A gust of wind blew the messy bangs off his forehead. Yennefer looked at him and tugged at her own ponytail which was gradually loosening.

"Must be keen on seizing our target in Havanna.", she noted. It ignited a sort of relentless fervour, deep in his heart. How _unnerving_ it was to know that the Djinn's Revenge has probably been on their heels since they've departed from Florida, obscured by the occasional archipelagos and unfavorable weather. Jaskier swore to himself that whoever ratted them out would die by his sword. And, oh, it had to be _Marx_ of all people. The man never failed to rile him up, flaring up a feverish sprig of zest. Jaskier uttered a short, assertive reply.

_"We shan't let him."_

Things were promptly being set in motion as Jaskier scurried over the weather deck, assigning tasks left and right like rearranging cogs inside a well-tuned machine. Geralt was sent up to the rigging to help with the sails. Not particularly because they needed him, but because he was still under surveillance and _could not be left alone_. Geralt chose not to display his annoyance and fastened a few sturdy knots around the mast. By the time of his descend, The Countess was fully prepared to confront her opponent. Everyone was on high alert, but despite the ongoing excitement, something at the ship's wheel caught Geralt's immediate attention.

Jaskier and his Quartermaster were engaging in a quarrel, which... seemingly _did not end well_ for his advisor because he now hung his head low in defeat at whatever ludicrous proposition his Captain just articulated. Yennefer, of course, was also by his side and decidedly unfazed by their bickering. A quick glance at the rivaling ship revealed that it was steadily creeping up on them, closing the distance at an alarming speed.

To be chased in open waters was an unspoken declaration of war and the lack of cannonfire made him tense with anticipation.

Geralt worried at his bottom lip, simultaneously impressed and repulsed by what was either Jaskier's audacious refusal to flee or his instance to _prevail_. As if on cue, the brunette spun the helm to port while shouting a belated _"Brace yourselves!"_ at his crewmates who all scrambled in fear. Geralt exchanged exasperated looks with a fellow sailor as he steadied himself when the reckless maneuver caused the ship lurch unpleasantly. It gave a heavy, wooden groan before it swung around.

Needless to say, hell broke loose. Barrels fell and rolled across the deck, slamming into a handful of men and the unlucky bastard in the crow's nest frantically wrapped his arms around the topmast because the structure swayed nauseatingly hard. Jaskier cackled like a maniac as the pirates bemoaned his carelessness; a particularly brave one even threw a _shoe_ at him, which he dodged with ease.

"Pardon my foolhardiness! To shield the rear was my intent.", Jaskier offered sheepishly under the many judgeful eyes. He proceeded to adjust this tricone. "Bear with me, alright? I need you to ready the guns and load the cannons. Fletch your teeth, my dears. _Show 'em what we're made of."_

Roars errupted from the crowd, an orchestra of madness and it became clear that his men were perfectly adjusted to his frequent antics – _hell_ , even downright eager to throw themselves into battle for their red-blooded Captain who spoke with passion and auspiciousness. An unbreakable loyalty, forged by fire, rum and gunpowder.

Jaskier smiled like he owned the whole world.

Geralt so _desperately_ wanted to hate him.

Wanted to forget that he had tasted the salt on his skin and how he indulged in his maddening sweetness.

Geralt fought against it, _he really did_ , but the resurfacing memory of one particular night in an unassuming inn-turned-alehouse in St. Augustine sent him back to that conflicting feeling that still lived somewhere deep inside his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo? flashback? flashback???


	5. a candid, reasonable fellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (drives past u in my tiny clown car) Sorry i forgot this fic existed

A shrill fiddle encouraged by unrhythmtic clapping. Shouts, here and there. The sound of a fist connecting with somebody's face.

St. Augustine had better inns to offer than _The Unorthodox_ but Geralt's lack of coin was becoming sinister and more apparent with each passing day like a noose serpentining around his neck.

Miserable, he was. _So, so miserable._ He'd departed from New Providence with a folded piece of paper clenched in his fist — a contract. He hasn't had one _in forever_ but the objective was bordering on inachievable. The British sought to regain control of the West Indies and a certain vessel was getting in their way, wreaking havoc upon their most valued fleets. Privateers were biting their knuckles in frustration over the lack of eyewitnesses and probable leads. Sunken ships meant _no survivors._ No one's ever lived to tell the tale, so the Bahamas were left with vague hints that pointed towards a faceless ghost, chaperoning a ship that sailed under the most unusual flag... It supposedly showed a bird carrying a bloodied rose in its beak. Rather harmless if compared to your typical Jolly Roger. But aside from that, accompanying crafts have discerned precious few helpful details before fleeing into safer waters.

In short: Geralt was sent on a hopeless pursuit and, frankly, didn't even know where to start.

The matter remained terribly urgent as their trades with Cuba were on the line.

The rogue phantom captain was to be eliminated... or rather _hanged_ in due time.

Geralt had barely finished his internal wallowing when he was interrupted by a bejeweled hand on his shoulder. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, you name it. Each little stone shone with pristine clarity, drew attention to the long nimble fingers that carried them. The brown-haired man's touch was a far cry from what Geralt was used to. It was soft, careful, _questioning —_ but why anyone with this much wealth would wait for his approval instead of _seizing_ what he needed was unbeknownst to him. Geralt's grip around the handle of his tankard briefly tightened. He assessed the human-shaped riddle with a distrustful gaze and found that the solution was neither written in his graceful face or anywhere on his well-proportioned body. A noble maybe? _Most likely_ a noble... and one who wished to mingle with outlaws, at that.

Suddenly, a soft rasp. "Buy me an ale?"

 _Too cocky_ , Geralt thought. _No tip-toeing, no shyness. Up to no good_. "Not interested.", he gruffed as passively as he could before taking a swig of his piss-poor beer.

The man's hand remained firmly planted on Geralt's shoulder. Unchanging, unyielding. Suddenly it became hard to miss that his smile bore predatory features. "Ah, _hm_... I'm afraid that won't do. It appears I have yet to learn how to take _no_ for an answer."

Geralt's free hand slid under his coat and onto the hilt of his saber. "I'll warn you — Your eargerness is ill-advised."

The threat ignited an impish gleam in the nobleman's eyes.

Geralt's irritation grew, but... it didn't strike a nerve _per se._ No, not yet. Geralt wasn't known for being short-tempered. With so many civilians in such close proximity, it was far more important to _deescalate,_ not to _engage._ Been a while since Geralt was in danger, really. It almost (god forbid) _excited_ him.

The man finally withdrew his hand and plopped down on the bar stool next to Geralt's. "Don't be such a bore." His crystal clear voice had a way of dominating the entire soundscape. Something was afoot and Geralt almost missed it; the shape of a _pistol_ , right where the rich man's other hand was obscurred by his velvety, red cloak. Two could play that game. Both had their weapons at the ready, merely sat out the calm before the storm.

The white-haired man exhaled, strained and focused. "Gonna shoot me point blank in a busy tavern? Unwise. I have allies in Nassau. They'd hunt you down."

The brunette earnestly chuckled — a sound nothing short of _infuriating_. "Easy, you wolf, easy. What a distasteful assumption. Eager to sink your fangs into me, I reckon? That'll have to wait. I would be so _terribly_ delighted if you granted me a minute of your time. Promise, I'll make the most of it. Let's go get some fresh air, shall we?"

Geralt looked around and realized that everyone within earshot had lowered their eyes, decisively minding their own business. The tavern was as much _his_ as were the sparkling jewels. That much was clear. Geralt was not in a position where he could protest so he didn't. Instead, he silently stood up and dropped a few coppers on the counter. "Keep the change." The barkeep nodded hesistantly and watched the two customers leave through the back door. Once they were out of sight, he scrambled to collect his pay.

The two figures stepped into the barely lit street, one after the other. Naught but fresh sea air and weakly glimmering stars to keep them company. The occasional pair of curious eyes stole a peak from behind a corner before quickly vanishing into the night. Couldn't risk getting caught. The citizens of Florida knew better than to interfere with pirate's business. 'Twas safer to focus on the singing cicadas, howling owls or even the obnoxious ratteling of heavy, military gear that echoed far and wide from where the guards patrolled the streets. Anything was better than becoming involved in whatever those two men who circled each other like jungle beasts were up to.

"I oughta know. What do they call you?", the bounty hunter inquired as he calmly drew his saber.

An easy grin blossomed on the brunette's face. "Whoreson. Nancy boy. _Fiend_ , even. Wolfie, I've heard anything you could _possibly_ imagine." He then shook his head, playfully. "My crew, however, calls me Siren — wheras my enemies and allies refer to me as, well, the Serenading Jaskier. Has a ring to it, no? I must say that I can't even tell which one I prefer. Goodness gracious!" His pistol remained in a position where one could argue that it wasn't outright pointed at his opponent. Geralt remained cautious, though.

"What do you want from me, _whoreson_?"

Jaskier barked out a laugh.

"Speak.", Geralt pressed.

"Your boorish manners delight me. All bark, all bite, I assume? _In any case_ — 'twas you, who slaughtered Cutthroat Chris, aye? You know, that short fellow with the unkempt beard? And the frightening stare?"

Geralt remained stone-faced and silent.

"No point denying it, I witnessed the whole affair. Quite a shame, really, that man was my associate, you see?"

"I wasn't... _He attacked me in a drunken stupor_.", Geralt retaliated through clenched teeth. Killing an unarmed man felt so wrong he could hardly stand it but he's tried to wring Geralt's neck for some _goddamn coin_. "You here to avenge him?"

Jaskier halted. "Hm... That would be the righteous thing to do." A moment of visible hesitation. "Nay. _I shan't_. One cannot afford being righteous in my line of business. Will you hear me out, white-hair, or will you not? Because I've come to _talk,_ not to brawl."

"Put down your gun first."

"Sheath your saber, then."

The two men warily stared at each other as they lay down their arms.

" _Have it your way_." Jaskier sighed. "I am going to make you an offer. A splendid offer, that's for certain. Look, I must admit that your technique was quite striking. Never seen anyone wield their steel with such confidence, so precisely. The pinnacle of swordsmanship, right before my very eyes! Would I be a fool for not recruiting this mysterious, handsome swordsman? Yes, very much so. I can bear the bloodshed. Dear Chris, may St. Elmo have mercy upon his raging soul, was a bit of an _arse_ , anyhow. Therefore, instead of having you _disemboweled_ for killing my tragically choleric crewmember..." _Crewmember? Was he...?_ "I'll give you an opportunity to redeem yourself! Right your wrongs, so to speak. Join my crew and take his place!"

Pirate scum.

How on earth could Geralt justify obeying _pirate scum_? To affiliate with those who ransacked villages, killed civilians?

"I don't trust your kind. _I really don't_. What's in it for me? An empty hammock on your lousy ship? _Please_." To say Geralt was repelled was an understatement.

" _What's in it for you?_ Why, freedom, money, a place to sleep and _renown_ for starters. Scurvy, if you're not careful. You being alive is an act of courtesy, right? You realize that? The innkeep's my lackey. Owes me a whole lot of cash. The patrons would _jump you_ at my very command. But instead of relying on such... Such unprovoked savagery, I choose to extend the proverbial olive branch. You musn't swat it away, for I am a kind soul, truly. A candid, reasonable fellow!" Jaskier's smile withered almost eerily fast. " _So, shall I rephase myself?_ Board my ship or I'll blow a hole in your gut."

And it became blindingly obvious that Geralt was left with only two unfavorable choices.

 _Money_ , he'd said — and money was the very thing Geralt needed to stay afloat. Nassau's govenor, that thief, that _son of a bitch_ , has offered him naught more than a meagre week's pay in advance for something that would take multiple _months_ and now it was (as always) every man to himself and Geralt was (again) staring down the barrel of a gun _—_ the _figurative_ one _,_ Jaskier's was hidden away.

Vesemir, Geralt's mentor, always emphasized that he would have to do things he'd hate to come out on top in this gruesome, terrible world.

A long forgotten scene briefly flashed before his eyes — his village, aflame, what felt like _eons_ ago. A pirate, evil-eyed and brutal, thrusting his sword into someone. A person Geralt used to refer to as _his daughter._ But not anymore. Young, ashen-haired, freckled. Liveless too soon. No. _No._ No. No. No.

Jaskier took a step toward Geralt, scanning him with his keen, blue eyes. His shoes — unfit for a Captain, far too fancy — produced a harsh sound against the uneven gravel. "You seem like you are miles away.", he said.

Was it concern or curiosity that his voice was tinged with? Or something entirely else?

Geralt was promptly pulled back into a reality he bore a grudge against.

"I wasn't... I'm _here_.", he spat, increasingly irritated.

"Just now, your face looked so disarming.", Jaskier noted and Geralt struggled to understand why he displayed this much carefulness towards his enemy. Wasn't Jaskier threatening his life mere moments ago? It was all too much. His empty stomach, the lack of booze, Jaskier in his perplexing entirety.

The brunette managed to crank out a smile. "Suits ya, I would say. Bit of a tenderness in a war-hardened, chiseled face."

And Geralt, for some unknown reason, let Jaskier place his hands on his body in a, oh, _definitely_ flirtatious manner — as if an exchange of body heat could repel anything that ate at him.

But Jaskier was _thrill_. Jaskier was negligence. Jaskier was corruption.

And Jaskier spoke again, more softly this time. "You work for me now, yes?" His cocky attitude turned fiery as Geralt's hands, prone to betrayal, moved towards the man's perfectly small waist. "Mhm, tired of playing the big bad wolf?" Jaskier playfully dug his fingers into his shirt, scraping at his chest.

Suddenly, a near-lethal encounter evolved into something so terribly _needy_ and it left Geralt's head feeling dizzy.

He needed a physical collision to shield himself from the past, because, well, _he felt too much_. He wasn't supposed to feel that much. Hunting pirates came with these inevitable duties, but...

Body heat.

A place to sleep.

Geralt's mind was circling back and forth in a languid pace. _Pirate scum_ , he thought to himself as he let Jaskier connect their lips in the laughably coyest manner. Geralt was feeling so damn weak from being strong for too long. He let the sweet tongue lick into his mouth.

 _Pirate scum, pirate scum, pirate scum_ , Geralt cursed as he followed Jaskier to his ship, into _his cabin_ , where he undressed the man and became familiar with each perfection and imperfection on his body. The brunette sang his praises, Siren-like, and Geralt was enarmored by the sound and his saltwater skin.

Everything was alright — briefly.

In the dark, they were just two bodies pressed against each other. Not two opposing parties.

Geralt hasn't even caught sight of their flag yet.

 _A bird with a bloodied rose in its beak_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pee pee poo poo


End file.
